


Fond Memories

by penombrelilas (crookedspoon)



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Flowers, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Canon, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-24
Updated: 2008-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:45:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/penombrelilas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiraishi remembers their first meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fond Memories

" _Gardens and flowers have a way of bringing people together, drawing them from their homes._ " (Clare Ansberry)

Recollection wasn't a word he was fond of using, if only for what it implied. Digging through the hazy fabricats that are memories to uncover past experiences and old associations with names and places, things done wrong, opportunities missed. Memories weren't to be trusted, those washed-out impressions, like damaged movie strips; like pages worn and faded, scattered and lost outside of time. Sometimes, when you looked at all the right places, you could dig up long forgotten sheets and smile or screech at at their charmingly incoherent or shockingly precious content, for even treasured memories could be buried as deep as traumatic ones if the pile of trash was high enough.

They weren't to be trusted, because they grew dim over time and if you didn't record the facts, they tended to warp according to the stories other people told you. So much so at times that you might begin to measure their certainty with your own when it came to retelling past events. Only in case of very personal memories no one could question your conviction. No one was able to take that bittersweet nostalgy that enveloped you when you basked in what you consider your very own "good ol' times," he thought, smiling. He rolled a pale purple Syringa petal between his thumb and forefinger, twirling a pen with his other hand over a mostly empty sheet of paper. There was only an address at the top, nothing more, though it was sufficient to make him drop his inhibitions, sufficient to prompt reminiscing about times gone by...

If someone asked him about his school life, he would reply that all he could remember was a huge blur of tennis, studying and hanging out with friends. Of course, there were those peaks sticking out from under the thick fog, but they were either uninteresting for those not involved or solely for his personal enjoyment.

That one day in August of his second year was of the latter category, something he liked to think of as a secret, shared with only one other. His team had lost during the Semifinals of the National Tournament, in three straight sets no less; an opportunity for him to play never arose and it had frustrated him to watch his Regulars go down so fast. He hadn't been able to face them afterward, their apologetic looks and words of regret. It hadn't been their fault, they had put up a great fight, and as their team captain, he had sought the blame in himself, never intending to accuse them. Still, he was in need to get in touch with nature to clear his thoughts, to enable himself to face his team thoroughly refreshed and full of plans for the coming season.

His desire to get out coincided with his carefully composed list of "Things to do while in Tokyo," which consisted of trying out the food and sight-seeing for the most part, especially botanical gardens and parks. Which was where he found himself several minutes and train rides later, after giving his coach a notice of departure. Stretching and enjoying the fragrant, if a little too warm air, he let his gaze wander over the ripe plums decorating the numerous _ume_ trees and over the heads of couples and families. Slowly regaining his composure, he spent his time flirting with girls his age or conversing with older women, when they seemed particularly knowledgeable about plants. They all commented about his accent, calling it cute or adorable, which he had found somewhat ridiculous at that time, even more so because he couldn't say the same about them.

"They're beautiful, ain't they?" He asked a blue-haired girl in front of a flower bed full of cluster amaryllis at one time; he had probably chosen her to address because her hair clashed so noticeably with the red flowers.

She turned around then, delicate features looking slightly amused, and said in tones that were not quite so female: "Aren't you that guy from Shitenhouji?"

He had just been bewitched by those cute looks, when, alas, his dreamy mood had suddenly been smashed similar to china meeting a wall. It wasn't as if her voice was distinctly male, but neither was his - they hadnÄt hit that part of puberty yet. Rather, it was that self-assured undertone, used to giving commands, that made him realize that the girl was in fact a boy, and his rival no less. That was so cliché it hurt.

"Yeah." He managed, still perplexed. "Say, why're you here?" At the very least he hadn't addressed the other boy as "cutie" or something similar embarrassing.

"To enjoy the flowers? Were you expecting something out of the ordinary?" The boy eyed him suspiciously.

"Dunno. Could've been 

"Then, why are you here?"

"Err... you really wanna know?"

"Uh-huh." The younger boy nodded his head slowly, as though dealing with a dim-wit. "Why else would I ask?"

"Well, um. Actually, I wanted to see some shrubs of Hydrangea and Rhododendron in bloom, but I haven't seen any yet in this garden." He said, swiveling his head from side to side as if expecting them to pop up out of the earth somewhere in his field of vision.

"And you won't find them here." His conversational partner revealed.

"Huh?" It was no every day occurrence to find someone who actually understood what he was saying and didn't associate his vocabulary with linguistic hieroglyphs. To actually stumble over such a person seemed so foreign he would never have dared dream such a scenario. Discovering that it was, after all, possible took getting used to.

"Not in this garden, at least."

"Then... where?" Granted, he had been feeling _slightly_ confused by the gargantuan offer of locations waiting to be visited; a couple of days being free to roam would never be enough to take in the sight of all of them.

"Shall I show you?" A light lit up in his eyes, reflecting his own; he would never know whether the other boy had been waiting to ask that question, eager to share something dear to him with someone his age, unlikely as that might have seemed to him before.

At his consent, the blue-haired boy grabbed his arm and dragged him through the streets of Tokyo, never looking back, eyes fixed on their destination, even when it was still out of sight. He was fascinating, that little one, so fierce on the court among the other Regulars, despite his girly features, never taking 'no' for an answer when he had made up his mind. His love for flowers helped strengthen the image of a samurai, a virtuous ideal worth looking up to.

*

They spent a fun day, all in all, after their initial awkwardness died down. Through what seemed endless chit-chat, they had come to see the other in a different light, outside the world of tennis, apart from other people's tales, and accepted one another as individuals with common interests.

"You gotta beat Makinofuji no matter what, now that you beat us. I'll be sure to watch." He uttered his parting words in mock seriousness, as he got into the train that would take him back to the hotel his team was staying in, back to where he belonged.

"I don't take orders from you." Came the reply, before he was squeezed against another passenger and the doors whirred close, effectively seperating both boys. Each would return to their routine, their duties, leaving this day behind and never beginning to suspect the life-altering bud their first encounter formed, waiting to open its tightly folded leaves and bloom into an unlikely, but colorful friendship.  



End file.
